The Anniversary Evolution
by April in Paris
Summary: A series of one-shots exploring how our beloved Shamy celebrate their wedding anniversary every year. Takes place firmly in my "Shamyverse," and reading of my Book Club series is essential. Also references my other stories. 100% pure, over-the-top fluff.
1. Year One

**The Anniversary Evolution**

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><p><strong>A series of one-shots exploring how our beloved Shamy celebrate their wedding anniversary every year. Takes place firmly in my "Shamyverse," and reading of my Book Club series is essential. Also references my other stories. 100% pure, over-the-top fluff.<strong>

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><p><strong>Year One<strong>

Sheldon did not know that societal norms dictated the exchange of gifts for one's wedding anniversary until Penny had informed him a couple of days after Christmas. How odd. Wasn't the pleasure of spending the rest of one's life beside the only other perfect person on the planet gift enough? But he had just spent a month watching Amy slavishly following every Christmas ritual, and cajoling him to participate in most of them, so he knew this would be expected of him. There was not a single romantic superstition in the whole world in which Amy did not want to participate.

The month of January was spent in indecision. What should he get her? Penny had also told him the gift should be romantic, not practical. It should, in some fashion, be tied to their love or shared history or some such nonsense. He became so desperate he even asked for ideas from his friends, who proved to be as useless as he anticipated they would be. Then, one day, he opened a secret untitled document on his computer that he had been using to vent his . . . thoughts for almost a year now, and it occurred to him that all that overly emotional, illogical claptrap was perfect for Amy. It was just the sort of thing she would love. She would lap it up eagerly and probably cry. The more sappy and the more ridiculous, the better. He had discovered the golden ticket.

But now there was a different problem. And it was entirely of his own making. If he had been calm, cool, and collected that fateful day none of this would have happened out of order. This is exactly what happened when one doesn't make the proper plans, when one allowed their heart to run away from their mind.

Valentine's Day. How he hated that holiday! Oh, how he loved it! She was his, she was his, at last, she was his. His very soul had cried out for her, and her soul had become his. Things were whispered in the dark, between the brushings of skin, and he felt that he had found a missing part of himself deep within her. That night, unexpectedly, they pledged themselves to each other in a union stronger than anything he had ever known. They were soul mates, in every meaning of the words. Legal marriage, that was a mere semantic, a practical necessity for their mothers, for the insurance companies, for the bank, for society. Everything that needed to be said, everything that needed to be promised, everything that needed to be done, it happened that night.

Except . . . standing in the bland room, a stranger asking them questions, feeling Amy's hand tremble as she tried to slid the ring on his finger (another romantic superstition!), seeing the look in her eyes when she said "I do" . . . something else changed. This wasn't just a semantic, a practical necessity for their mothers. This wasn't just signing a form for the State of California, this wasn't just a thing all their friends seemed to be doing. His heart pounded in his chest and he knew this was just as great as the words whispered in the dark between the brushings of skin, this band of metal on his finger (oh, how he loved it!) was his way of crying out to the world "I am my soul mate's, and she is mine!"

Not that he would tell her any of that, of course. How absurd, he wasn't a hippy. But still the question lingered: the 14th or the 20th?

It was Amy, of course, who solved this dilemma, just as she always did. She was reading in bed, her eyes hungrily shifting back and forth across the page. When he got in beside her, she hadn't even turned to look at him.

Sheldon brushed her hair away from her shoulder and rested his cheek there. "What are you reading that is so engrossing?"

There was a pause before she answered. "_Love Letters of Great Men_."

"Is it that good?" he asked, smirking internally. _Oh, yes, my gift is perfect._

"Napoleon may have been a megalomaniac, but he certainly knew how to write," she replied. She put her Kindle down. "Do you ever wonder that if some of the most famous people had written novels instead of whatever they did, what those books would be like? What if Winston Churchill wrote a whole novel as good as his wartime speeches, for example?"

"I never thought about it. Do you not find our Book Club selections compelling enough?"

She turned to him. "Oh, no, that's not what I meant. I love Book Club. Just a thought exercise, I guess. There's plenty of love in our Book Club." She took off her glasses and pulled away from him to set them on the bedside table with her Kindle. "Sheldon, I've been thinking about Valentine's Day."

"Yes?" he perked up.

"Well, it's so close to our anniversary, it seems silly to go out and celebrate two nights in one week. How about we just stay in for Valentine's Day, since our anniversary is arguably more important? We won't make a big deal of it."

"We could have spaghetti with hot dogs and Strawberry Qwik again," he volunteered. "Yes, let's do that. It sounds like fun."

"Fun? You hate Valentine's Day."

"Mmmm," he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "you've changed my mind . . ." Her earlobe felt like velvet and he brushed her skin . . .

Valentine's Day came, and Sheldon was awake earlier than usual. Now that the day was here, it felt wrong not to acknowledge it somehow. He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Amy, and went to the living room. Her Kindle was on the island, and he flipped it open to read a paragraph. _Good, I'm not the first brilliant mind to dissolve into emotional claptrap. It's a good thing we only read fiction for Book Club or Amy would -_

He sat up straighter before getting up and going to his desk. He wrote them quickly, and then placed them all over the apartment. One Post-It on her toothbrush, one on her favorite mug, one on her hair brush, one on her glasses . . .

"I love you more than Lady Trent loved Jacob."  
>"I love you more than The Doctor loves River."<br>"I love you more than Mr. Rochester loved Jane."  
>"I love you more than Marco loved Celia."<br>"I love you more than Sherlock loved a mystery."  
>"I love you more than A.J. loved Amelia."<br>"I love you more than Lord Maccon loved Alexia."  
>"I love you more than I love <em>Flatland<em>."

But she found the last one much later, after she had brushed his skin with so much love and they were late to work.

That night, after dinner and the movie, between the brushings of skin, he whispered once more, "I love you and you are so beautiful and you are more important than anything I have ever discovered and I feel like my heart is the Tardis it's bigger on the inside . . ."

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><p>Six days later, she surprised him in his office, holding a package and giddy with suppressed excitement.<p>

"Amy? What's this?" he asked, coming around from behind his desk.

"It's your anniversary present."

"But we're celebrating tonight. I'm wearing a suit and everything. And I don't have your gift here."

"I know. There's a reason. Hurry, open it, you're wasting time." She thrust the package out at him.

He took it and opened it, Amy watching him closely. He noticed she kept glancing at her watch. "Wait, slow down," she suddenly said.

"But you told me to hurry up!"

"Don't slow down that much. Keeping opening."

Sheldon rolled his eyes and returned to opening the package. "A watch! Thank you, Amy, it's very nice -"

"Hurry, hurry, hurry, take it out!"

He lifted the watch out of the box and -

"Wait, hold still!" Amy's eyes were glued to her own watch, her other palm lifted in the universal stop signal. "Okay, when I say go, turn it over."

"Turn it over?"

"Go! Now! Now!"

Startled, Sheldon flipped the watch over. It was engraved: 31557600. He looked up at her, meeting her grin with his own. "The number of seconds in a year. And right on time, I presume?"

She hugged him right there, in his office, and, although he was mortified that someone would walk by and see, he hugged her back with equal ardor.

Later, after a fancy dinner, sitting on the sofa, he had presented his scroll to her. At first her brow wrinkled in confusion, but, just as he expected, she lapped it like a kitten laps up cream and she was crying by the end, happy tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, Sheldon," she whispered, and he pulled her for another hug.

By then it was 31,579,837 seconds. The best 31,579,837 seconds of his life.

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><p><strong><em>AN: If you haven't already read Sheldon's gift to Amy, it's my story entitled <em>Ramblings of a Neurodegenerative Mind: An Anniversary Present._ I'll keep this story going as long as I have ideas, but since it references an event that only takes place one a year, updates will be slow (and timed to occur chronologically with my Book Club series). I will also include the same disclaimer I put on my Book Club After Dark series: some will be serious, some will be funny, some will painfully short, and some will be mundane. Because that's life. Despite its faults, I hope you enjoy. Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	2. Year Two

**Year Two**

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><p>It was her mother, as it so often had been her entire life, that put the seed of doubt into Amy's head. Amy was engaged in her obligatory monthly Skype call. Sheldon had already left the room after lying about how good it was to see his mother-in-law and saying, as he always did, "I'll leave you two ladies to catch up," before running away.<p>

"Your anniversary is coming up. Have your selected your gift yet?" Mother asked.

"No. Sheldon and I haven't discussed if we're exchanging gifts," Amy replied. She was considering suggesting no gifts to him. He hated presents; and, after the wonderful gift Sheldon had given her last year, she thought she may never need another gift from him as long as she lived.

"Do you have any ideas? Do you need my help again this year?"

Amy frowned. That was not how it had happened. She already knew what she was getting Sheldon last year when she told her mother about it - and then only because she was grasping for topics of conversation - and her mother had disagreed on the engraving. "Just a series of numbers? That's too obscure. The average person will not understand that."

"This is not a gift for an average person, Mother. This is a gift for Sheldon," Amy had rebutted, and that had been end of the discussion.

"No, thank you, I'll think of something," Amy quickly replied this year.

"Let's think about this. I believe that the second anniversary is cotton or china. What could you get that is cotton or china?" her mother persisted.

"Mother, even if we do exchange gifts, we're not going to adhere to the traditional anniversary gift schedule."

"But you already have. You gave him a watch, which is really a small clock, and what was it he gave you, dear? A book or something? You were vague. Anyway, it was paper, was it not?"

"Yes, I suppose it was," Amy mumbled.

"Oh, I know just the thing! Nordstrom has the most lovely 800 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Very high quality, you could use them forever. You could have a set embroidered with your monogram." Then her mother paused and frowned. "But you refused to change your name, so I'm not sure what your monogram would look like."

That was not how that had happened either. But Amy was tired of telling her mother that she had not refused to change her name. She just hadn't, because neither she or Sheldon saw the need. And the idea of giving Sheldon something with "their monogram" on it almost made her laugh. Instead, she took drink of tea to otherwise engage her mouth.

"Well, it doesn't matter. After two years, you're officially not newlyweds anymore, so perhaps the sheets aren't important."

Amy almost spit out her tea. "What?"

"Really, dear, you should not drink tea while hunched over like that. It seems I will forever be reminding you to sit up straighter. I was just pointing out that sheets are not so important after the second anniversary, when the . . . newlywed . . . phase has passed."

A smart retort on her tongue, Amy bit it back. (_How would you know anything about marriage? _But that would be going too far, the wound would be too deep.) More concerning, though, Amy could not decide which was worse: that her mother had just referenced her sex life, however obliquely, or that her mother thought it would be drying up like a prune. And why did it bother her so much that she officially wouldn't be a newlywed anymore?

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><p>She heard him coming down the hall, which made her realize she was frowning, and she quickly changed her expression. At first, she was pleased to see them arranged on her side of the island in a perfect square, thrilled with what appeared to be a new tradition:<p>

"I love you more than Henry loved Cat."

"I love you more than Darcy loved Elizabeth."

"I love you more than Le Petit Prince loved his rose."

"I love you more than Dorian Gray loved himself."

"I love you more than Richard loved Elise."

"I love you more than Paul loved dignity."

But then, without her consent or desire, her mother's words came back to her. _Why are they in a square this year? Why are they not scattered through the apartment, in a sort of savager hunt? _Did Sheldon think their love life would turn out to be square? Was it no longer a treasure worth seeking?

_No, no, I am being ridiculous. I should not let my mother get to me like this. I am reading too much into this sweet gesture of love. Obviously Sheldon couldn't mean anything by it; I didn't even tell him about that part of the conversation. I should be thrilled. Sheldon used to hate Valentine's Day, now he does this for me. Books, Valentine's Day, his love . . . what more could I ask for?_

"Amy?" Sheldon's voice shattered her bubble.

"Oh, good morning. Thank you for my notes," she smiled at him.

"What's wrong? Did I get one wrong?" he asked, his face covered in confusion.

"Nothing's wrong. I just . . . I don't remember us using the word dignity when we discussed_ The Green Mile_," she said quickly.

"I thought of it later, when I was analyzing Book Club in my mind. Maybe I should have brought it up again."

"I like that you ruminate on Book Club even after its over." This time her smile was sincere, and Sheldon smiled back.

"Of course I ruminate on it. You always say something interesting I haven't thought of before, and I need to give your ideas my full consideration."

Amy reached up for his face, and he met her halfway. Their lips brushed softly together, and then Amy thought about brushing the rest of his skin, and she pulled him in deeper. He allowed it for a bit, but then he broke away.

"If you keep that up, we'll be late for work," he said.

"That was the point. We were late last Valentine's Day . . ." she murmured softly.

"Oh, no, little lady, I've got important things to do today." He broke away from her to get the box of Honey Nut Cheerios. "Besides, we're not sex crazed newlyweds anymore."

It was like a thunder clap in her brain.

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><p>There was strange kicking sound at the door, and Amy opened it to find Sheldon's arms full with a box, the rest of the mail perched on top.<p>

"Thanks," he said. "It looks like it's from your mother."

Amy sighed. "It's sheets."

"How do you know?" Sheldon asked, sitting the box down on the coffee table.

"I just do," Amy took the scissors he offered and carefully opened the package. She was right. A set of pristine white sheets. She took out a pillow case. Her mother was right: these were the softest sheets she had ever felt.

"What's this?" Sheldon asked, reaching out for the opposite end.

"Oh, no," Amy groaned. "Let me guess: ACS in a swirly font."

"No," Sheldon lifted it up for her to see. "FC" in, she was pleased to see, Copperplate.

"It's our monogram. I'm sorry," she said.

"Why are you sorry?"

"Because it's a monogram. You, especially, are not a monogram person."

Sheldon shrugged. "But your mother is. It's not so bad. At least it's a practical gift. Not like last year's."

Oh, last year's gift. Just as expensive, just as proper, but, yes, completely useless. Who had all their photos printed into 4x6 prints anymore? She had only printed Raj's wedding photo to put on her desk. And, of course, Sheldon never took photos. So the expensive leather bound photo album with gold gilt lettering sat empty on their bookshelf, never opened.

"Here," Sheldon said. "Give them to me. I'll put them in the hamper for Laundry Night. Your mother will kill you if you don't write a thank-you card right away."

Amy sighed once more before going to her desk and taking out the notecards with her monogram on the front. A gift from her mother. Of course.

* * *

><p>She shifted on the sofa, her neck bothering her, not wanting to move Sheldon's arm. But it was too much, and he took his arm away. Then he picked up the remote and paused the movie.<p>

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I just can't get comfortable," Amy answered.

"I meant in general. Did you change your mind? Do you really want to get dressed up and go out to that French restaurant Raj told us about?"

"No, I'm fine. You would have hated it," she said.

"Amy, I would not have hated it. Not aloud. It's our second anniversary. It doesn't seem fair to you to stay in and watch a movie; especially since we just did this for Valentine's Day. You love going out to eat at fancy places."

"We already ate. It's fine," she looked away.

He sat up straighter. "In my two years of marriage, I have learned that when you say something is fine it is most certainly not fine. What's going on? Something has been bothering you all week. You even said you didn't want an anniversary present! Are you still mad about the sheets your mother sent? I told you, I don't mind the monogram. Tell me what's wrong. This is supposed to be a happy day."

"I'm worried that we're not newlyweds anymore, that the spark will go out," Amy blurted. "There, I said it, it's stupid, you can mock me now."

Sheldon turned off the television and turned on the sofa. "What are you talking about? What spark? Why should I mock you?"

"Traditionally, a couple is only considered to be newlyweds the first two years of marriage. So the honeymoon is over."

"Say's who?"

"My mother," she mumbled. Then, just as Sheldon's face was contorting into anger, she added, "And, well, you said it the other morning."

His mouth gaped open, and she saw his mental playback. "Oh . . . Amy . . . I . . . I didn't mean it. I was trying to be funny."

"I know! That's the worst part! I know it was just a silly little comment, but it's been bothering me! Because my mother basically said the same thing the day before."

"Let's leave your mother out of this. She knows absolutely nothing about our marriage. I don't care what she thinks. But you . . . I care very much about what you think." He swallowed. "Is this about love or sex?"

Amy shrugged. "I'm not sure."

He cocked his head. "It doesn't matter." He reached for her face. "Listen to me. I love you, Amy. I love you more today than that day we went to the courthouse together. I desire you more today than that day you dropped your Chapstick and I took you to bed. No one will ever change that, will ever take that away from us. Unless we let them. And nobody takes something from Sheldon Cooper without his consent."

Amy leaned in and put her head against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her. She felt stupid and foolish. She knew she was the luckiest woman in the world. Not only had the incomparable Sheldon Cooper chosen her to be his mate, but she was always thrilled to find the glimpses of a romantic soul lurking behind his gorgeous blue eyes and deep inside his brilliant mind. "I'm sorry, Sheldon. I've been a fool."

"Shhh, that's enough. Yes, you've been fool, but you're my fool. And it's over." He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. "Well, it's earlier than I planned, but I have a surprise for you."

She sat back. "A surprise?"

"I decided on a gift for you before you said no anniversary presents."

"Oh, Sheldon, I really didn't get you anything. Please, save it for my birthday."

"Don't worry, it's a tiny thing. And," he grinned, "I am definitely not waiting until your birthday." He let go of her. "Wait here." He scrambled off the sofa and down the hallway.

Amy sat and waited. And waited. And waited. "Sheldon?" she called after what she thought had been a very long time.

"It's ready now!" his voice called back.

She waited a couple of more moments. "Where are you? What's going on?"

"Come back here. It's in the bedroom!"

Amy's eyebrows rose, and she was already smirking long before she opened the bedroom door. And then she burst out laughing.

"Don't laugh! I already feel ridiculous! It seemed like a good idea at the time . . ." Sheldon said, grabbing a sheet to cover his naked body. Well, not completely naked; he was wearing a red bowtie around his neck.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself," Amy said, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "What is this?"

He shrugged and blushed. "You like it when I wear bow ties. And I looked it up, year two is fabric. This is the bowtie I wore when I went as the The Doctor for Halloween. And there's James Bond . . . you always like him."

"I do, I do. I just didn't expect that! At first, I thought you looked like a Chippendale," she giggled again at the thought.

"You thought I looked like one of the chipmunks in _Rescue Rangers_?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

She laughed again, and then jumped on the bed over him. "I love laughing with you, Sheldon."

"It felt more like laughing at me," he said, but she saw the glint in his eyes.

Amy kissed him, and it quickly deepened. Her lips left his and she left a trail of kisses on the way to his ear, where she said, "Nothing will ever take this from us." Then she whispered for the second time in a week, "I love you and you make me glow with incandescence and you are an unsolvable puzzle and I cannot resist that and I want to unlock you every day for the rest of my life . . ."

Then she took him there, in that ludicrous bowtie, on those expensive monogramed sheets, brushing his skin with such ferocity it surprised even her.

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><p><em><strong>AN: Thank you for your reviews!<strong>_


	3. Year Three

**...**

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><p><strong>The Anniversary Evolution<strong>

**Year Three**

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><p>Valentine's Day is not a holiday for the parents of a newborn. It passed by with nary a whisper, and most certainly no brushing of the skin.<p>

They were trying to get Ada on a schedule, which was both more difficult and more simple than they had been doing it. This they discussed endlessly: the nuances of timing and order and balancing needs with wants. Then there was the thing they did not discuss at all, the morning four days prior that Amy had hit rock bottom and almost took Sheldon with her. By silent mutual consent, it would never be mentioned again. They would each live separately with the guilt of this black mark upon them: Amy for the things she had said, Sheldon for how he had stood with his forehead against the door, his hand around the door knob, fighting every demon he had ever known not to open it and walk out.

On the twentieth, Sheldon woke up with a start, well before the 6:30 feeding. He strained his ears, but all was calm and quiet. Amy was sound asleep next to him, and he would not wake her for anything. Well, maybe the Nobel prize. He slipped out of bed and into the shower before trying to slip out of the house. He carried his shoes to the living room and was startled to find his mother awake, sitting on the sofa, knitting.

"Mom, what are you doing up?" he whispered.

"I could ask you the same," she replied, watching her stitches. "I haven't been able to sleep past six in years, so I knit. These are booties. Where do you think they've all been coming from? And why are you dressed and out here so early in the morning?"

"I remembered an errand I have to run. And do you just sit in silence and knit?"

"At home, I watch the early news, but I can't figure out your fancy TV. And what errand?"

Sheldon sighed. "I've told you, there's nothing to figure out." He took the small remote from the coffee table, pressed the large button on the bottom, and raised his voice slightly, "Siri, play Channel Four, volume low."

Mary jumped as the television came to life. "I don't like that, it's unnerving. You think this woman is your friend, but one day she will kill you in your sleep. And what kind of foreign name is Siri, anyway?"

Sheldon rolled his eyes and started to slip on his shoes.

"You never did answer my question. What errand is so important you have to run it at six in the morning?" his mother asked.

"Uh . . . going to buy cereal before breakfast. We're out," he said.

She looked up at him. "We both know that's not true. Don't try to lie to me, young man."

"Fine. I just realized it's our anniversary. I haven't got a single thing to give to Amy."

Mary smiled. "See, the truth is nicer, anyway. Get a card, women love cards." She returned to her knitting as he opened the door. "When she wakes up, I'll tell her that you went to buy cereal. You might consider bringing some home. One of the secrets to a successful lie is follow through."

He drove to the grocery store to buy cereal, debating what he should get Amy, what he could find so early in the morning on such sort notice. His mother's suggestion of a card was ridiculous, he had never once bought Amy a greeting card and did not intend on building her future expectation for one now. The best idea he had was a box of brownie mix that he could make for her, because she liked brownies and chocolate was supposed to be romantic, but he knew that was weak idea. He had just grabbed a shopping basket when he saw the sunflowers in the floral department. Yes! He choose the bouquet with the most perfect specimens, and then he saw the sign above the display: "Don't forget your bouquet card!"

_Well, one of the plain ones with the red border wouldn't be too much, would it? _He picked up the complimentary pen. But what to write? It needed to be something Amy would understand but that wouldn't be embarrassing, especially if his mother saw it. Suddenly, he remembered the recent forgotten holiday, and he smiled as he wrote the words.

His mother got up as soon as he came home, and, when she saw the flowers, she smiled and nodded at him. Behind her, on the sofa, was Amy, sitting and looking down at their daughter in her arms.

"Oh, good, Sheldon! I'm so glad you remembered the cereal!" Mary said effortlessly, and Sheldon envied her skill. "You know, I just remembered that no one went down to the get the mail yesterday. I'll be right back." She picked up the mail that she had, in fact, remembered to get the day before and went out the front door, patting Sheldon's arm as she went. Follow through.

"Yes, thank you for the cereal," Amy said, not looking up, still lost in the trance of motherhood. Sheldon didn't mind. He liked watching her. She was looking so much better now, more like herself. Even though she was still in her nightgown and robe, her hair was neatly braided and there were no dark circles under her eyes. Only in middle the night did the look of terror come back into her eyes, the one he had feared was permanent that first week home from the hospital, when Amy seemed like a feral version of herself. The schedule had saved her, and now he frequently caught her just holding and enjoying Ada for those precious moments that were all too brief. He felt a strange ache at the thought of going back to work on Monday, a regret he had never felt before at the thought of returning to his job. Maybe he should have taken a longer paternity leave, so that he could watch them together everyday, to see the look on Amy's face when she gazed at her baby. That look, it was so unique, so different from the loving looks he gave him, but there was no doubt that it was love. Motherhood looked beautiful on Amy.

Sheldon sat the bag with the cereal and the brownie mix on the island and walked over to the sofa. Amy looked up at him.

"Sheldon! Sunflowers!" Her face had instantly shifted to the loving countenance she reserved for him alone.

"For you. Happy anniversary," he said, suddenly feeling silly about the whole thing. But he leaned down to kiss her softly anyway. "Do we have a vase somewhere?"

"Oh, they're beautiful. Yes, there's the crystal vase Mother sent as a housewarming gift. But leave it for now. Sit with us instead."

He sat. "There's a card."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Will you read it to me? My hands are full."

He nodded, feeling more ridiculous by the minute. He opened the little white envelope and cleared his throat. "Amy, this is strange, reading this to you. Maybe I should I let you read it yourself later."

"Please? I want to hear it. And your mother isn't here."

Unable to deny her, he stared at the words, even though he knew exactly what they said. He couldn't help but whisper them. "You make my heart feel like the Tardis."

He looked up sheepishly, to see Amy's beautiful face, shining so brightly at him. A single tear started to roll down her cheek, and he instinctively reached up to stop it. "Amy? Is that not what I should have written?"

"Sheldon, it's perfect. I'm so happy." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I didn't get you anything."

He leaned forward to set the flowers on the coffee table. He ran his palm over his daughter's dark hair, before tracing down her arm with his fingertips. Then, he gave her his index finger and she grasped it in her tiny hand. At the exact same moment, she released a small, contented baby sigh.

"That's not true," Sheldon said. "You gave me the best gift of all."

* * *

><p>That night, the Post-It notes were on his bathroom mirror, surprising him. When did she have the time to sneak off and write them?<p>

"I love you more than Bilbo loved the Shire."  
>"I love you more than Laura loved Almonzo."<br>"I love you far more than Catherine loved Frederic."  
>"I love you more than Mary loved the garden."<br>"I love you more than John loved Shakespeare."  
>"I love you more than Poirot loved his little gray cells."<p>

Under those notes, there was an extra one:

"You are an unsolvable puzzle, and I cannot resist that."

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><p><em><strong>AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!<strong>_


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